


Open the Window and Stand In the Sunshine

by akensing



Category: Flowers in the Attic - V. C. Andrews, Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Garth Fitzgerald IV, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Case Fic, First Time, M/M, Past Amelia Richardson/Sam Winchester, Past Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Post-Episode: s08e14 Trial and Error, Top Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akensing/pseuds/akensing
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a case at Foxworth Hall. There's a reason Garth sends the Winchesters instead of another hunter.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam tossed the phone across the big table in the bunker's main room and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That Kevin?" Dean asked as he came in from the kitchen with two burgers.

Dean put a plate on the table, sliding it towards Sam across the polished wood surface. Sam expected he'd eventually get sick of burgers for lunch and dinner, and scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, the mainstays of Dean's culinary repertoire, but not yet. Seeing Dean excited about something that wasn’t death or car related made Sam happy. Although a side salad every now and again wouldn’t kill either of them. Undoubtedly Dean’s “nesting” phase would be blown to hell soon enough. He realized Dean was watching him, waiting for an answer.

"Nah, it was Garth. He's got a job for us," Sam said, before biting into his burger.

Dean spoke around a mouthful of food. "Go on."

"He's really taking his role as the new Bobby seriously. And he's still handing out jobs to hunters, apparently. I updated him on the outcome of the first trial and he said Kevin's still working on figuring out the second."

According to the demon tablet, the first trial God set up to close the gates of Hell was to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood. Sam shuddered, remembering how tough the animal's throat was to cut through, the sound its saliva had made as it sizzled through his clothing and burned his skin. He’d struggled so hard to keep the creature’s slavering jaws away from his throat that he’d had a hard time lifting his arm the next day.

Plus, It took ages to wash the gore off and it smelled about as bad as one would expect the blood of a hellhound to smell. Despite the necessity of getting the trials done, Sam wouldn’t say he was looking forward to it.

"Earth to Sammy."

Sam shook his head. He needed a nap. For a few days. "Sorry, dude. What did you say?"

Dean swallowed a mouthful of beer and tried again. "I asked what's the job? And are you okay, man? You don't like my burger?"

Sam smiled. "Burger's great, Dean. Who knew you could cook? And I'm fine." He took a healthy bite to prove it and another swig of beer. He pulled the notes he'd scratched out while on the phone with Garth toward him.

"Haunted mansion of some kind. In rural Virginia, the part that's mostly horse country. New family moved in to a place called Foxworth Hall, with four children, but a couple of weeks later, the kids stopped going to school. No one's seen anyone go in or out of the house."

"So?" Dean said. He'd already demolished his burger and was cracking open a second beer. "Sounds like a job for the local police. Or Child Protective Services. Why does Garth think this is our kind of thing?"

Sam shrugged. "Garth says there are lots of rumors about the family that owned the house. They were rich, had a daughter who ran off with her half-uncle or something. It was a big scandal at the time.”

“Small town scandal. Fantastic.”

Sam ignored the interruption. “She moved back fifteen years later, for reasons that were all hush-hush. Here is where we come in,” he said, taking a breath. “The locals say it’s not just haunted but possessed. After the daughter came back, the whole place burns down and everyone in it at the time dies."

"Huh. Still doesn't sound like our kind of job. Garth's sure this is a monster thing?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "He says so. Dude, it’s kids. We should check it out."

"Well, isn't there anyone closer? I mean, we just got back from that hellhound thing.”

Sam stacked their plates and grabbed the empties in his other hand. “Is this just because you’re going to miss your room?”

Dean glared at him and Sam grinned back.

"Garth says it's gotta be us. Didn't say why. We're still waiting for Kevin to figure out the second trial anyway. What else are we going to do in the meantime?"

"I dunno, man, relax, maybe? That first trial looks like it took a lot out of you,” Dean said, his gaze roaming over Sam’s body. Dean cleared his throat. “Maybe we should lay low for a while. You know, catch up on our sleep, watch some porn?”

Dean leaned back in his chair and propped his legs up on the edge of the table. "Do some laundry, maybe?" he said, eyes flicking down to his jeans. Was that dirt he was picking at? If not, it was probably blood.

Sam smirked. "You really are nesting, aren't you, dude? There's no point in leaving until tomorrow, so you have plenty of time to do laundry. Hell, do mine too, while you're at it. I like my jeans ironed with plenty of starch."

Dean flashed him a grin. "Bite me."

"You first."

"Bitch," Dean said, glancing away. Was he blushing?

"Jerk," Sam said, completing their standard set of insults.

Sam washed the dinner dishes and brought Dean another beer. He was tired, though there was no way he was admitting to Dean just how much the first trial had cost him. He suspected Dean knew anyway. It was why he was trying to keep Sam here instead of going to Virginia. Dean’s worry was almost palpable, this underlying tension between them.

But sometimes, Dean's protectiveness was just too much. And even though Dean wanted to pretend he was invincible, the truth was Sam was relieved he was the one doing the trials. Dean wasn’t himself. Maybe he wasn’t even strong enough to do the trials. And if he was struggling, he sure as hell wouldn’t say it.

Things had been better between them, since they cut ties with Benny and Amelia. Dean even seemed happier, like in letting go of Benny, he'd let go of whatever was haunting him from Purgatory too. But Sam was still worried.

At night, when he went to bed he saw Dean’s face, heard the despair in his voice when he talked of the future. Or lack thereof. As far as Dean was concerned, his future consisted of him going out with a gun in his hand, fighting monsters. And it might be soon.

Just the thought of it made him feel sick. Damned if he was going to let Dean give up like that. If Dean had taken on these three trials to close the gates of Hell, Sam wasn’t sure Dean could get it done. At least not without dying in the process. No matter what Dean said or wanted, Sam would take care of Dean too. No matter how hard his brother tried to push him away.

And a case was just the sort of thing Dean needed to boost his spirits.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean hummed a bit of _Kashmir_ while he folded laundry. This bunker was awesome. Sleeping quarters, fully stocked kitchen, even a freaking laundry room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd regularly put on Downy-fresh clothes. Mostly he and Sam did their socks and underwear in the sink at whatever random motel they were staying at. Sometimes they found a laundromat when things were really bloody.

He wasn't ironing anything, though, so Sam could take a flying leap with that comment about the starch. What the hell did he want with starch anyway? Blood and guts stiffened up clothing just fine, he thought darkly. He folded Sam's jeans in half, then smoothed the creases out of the legs and stacked a pile of t-shirts he'd just folded on top. After everything Sammy'd been through with the first trial, he deserved some fresh clothes.

What the hell possessed Sam to take on that hellhound? Dean had him, or was about to have him. He'd lost the glasses dipped in holy fire that made the devil dogs visible but he could tell where the damn thing was and he was about to get up and find his knife. And then Sammy comes along, pulls the dammed thing off Dean, and nearly gets eaten while cutting its cursed throat. This was supposed to be Dean's job. To close the gates of Hell, to save the world. To protect Sam.

Sam's little speech about showing him the light at the end of Hell's tunnel was inspirational and all. But they both know there's only one way these trials end. If they succeed in closing the gates (and that was a big if) then whoever did it wasn’t going to end up on this side of them.

Dean wanted to believe in a happy ever after, but he'd tried that already, with Lisa and Ben, and look how that had worked out. They both knew Dean couldn’t make it work doing the normal life crap. Not like Sam could. Dean should have completed the trials, saved the world, and Sam could have trotted off to find Amelia. Who would undoubtedly still be waiting for Sam, even after all this time, because who wouldn’t?

Now that plan was fucked and Sam's life and probably his soul too, was on the line. Again. Dean snapped another t-shirt from the dryer and folded the soft gray cotton into a tidy package. Well, he'd just have to stick to Sammy through all the trials and help him as much as he could. Losing Sammy was not an option. Especially after losing Benny.

Dean slammed the dryer door shut on that thought. Best focus on the job ahead.

Dean wasn't sure Sam should be out hunting so soon after the first trial but this job didn't sound so difficult. Vengeful spirit, maybe, or a witch. Nothing they hadn't handled a dozen times before. And Dean would keep an eye on Sam, do the heavy lifting when they ganked whatever this son of a bitch was.

He carried the laundry to Sam’s room, knocking once and then opening the door. Empty. He took a breath in, feeling the tension leave him. Why did his room always smell so good? It wasn’t like air freshener or even Sam’s aftershave but a combination of things that was just…Sam.

He left the folded laundry on Sam's bed and went back to the main room. If they weren't leaving till tomorrow, he might as well have another beer before bed. Sam was still reading at the war room table.

"Come on, Sammy, give the books a rest for the night. They'll still be here when we get back."

He spared Dean a quick glance. "I'm trying to see if the Men of Letters have anything about these trials." Sam sighed and closed the book in front of him.

"Find anything yet?"

"Not much so far. A few vague references but nothing concrete." Sam accepted the beer Dean slid across the table and rubbed his eyes.

"Tired?"

Sam sighed again. "Yeah. Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix, though." He ran his hands through his long hair, the constant battle to keep it out of his eyes, and Dean looked away, peeling the label off his bottle. He cleared his throat.

"So, this Virginia job. You said the daughter ran off with someone and something bad happened when she got back?"

"Yeah. Her half-uncle. It was a big scandal at the time. She came back alone though."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Half-uncle, eh? This going to be an incest thing like psycho Nell and her brother living in the walls of that old house in Stratton, Nebraska?"

"Incest? Wow, your mind goes straight to the gutter, doesn't it?"

Dean snorted. "Oh please, girl runs away from home with her uncle, it's a big scandal in town, and it's not because she's been boinking said uncle? If there wasn't something dirty going on, why would they need to run away?"

"Maybe her parents were assholes. Maybe she just wanted to live somewhere else. Who knows? Doesn't mean it's incest."

"Uh-huh. We'll see. My money's on incest. Probably they had a litter of two-headed babies or whatever. That'd be something to keep quiet."

Sam shook his head. "Two headed babies? Because they were related?” He snorted, apparently amused. “Probably not. Incest is taboo in most modern societies but there've been cultures where it's really no big deal. The Egyptian pharaohs married their siblings for generations and all the royal families in Europe were closely related. Things can get weird after generations of it when you don't have enough genetic diversity. That's why hemophilia showed up in both the Russian and English royal families. But it takes generations of inbreeding before incest results in deformities. And if he was her half-uncle, they weren't really that closely related. If the Foxworth girl and her uncle had any children, they were probably completely normal."

Dean drained the last of his beer. Leave it to Sam to use facts as an argument. "Well, I'm holding out for some two-headed babies anyway. Come on, let's hit the sack. Got a long drive tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean eased the Impala into the parking lot at First and Market in Charlottesville, Virginia two days later and cut the engine.

Sam woke with a start, scrubbing his hands over his face.

"We're here?" he yawned. "Okay, what's our play?"

Dean looked at him with concern. "You sure you're okay, man? You slept the whole ride yesterday and I couldn't even get you to have a beer with me at the bar across from our motel last night. Not to mention you've been napping since the last rest stop."

Sam yawned again. "I'm fine. And I wasn't sleeping all day. It's hard to sleep through eighteen hours of Led Zeppelin played at top volume."

"Dude, it's a road trip. The kind of road trip that calls for Zeppelin. And I played some Metallica in there too.

Sam shook his head. "Whatever, dude. And I'm fine. Caught up on my sleep and ready to work the job. So, where do we start?"

Dean thought of saying something else about Sam being obviously not fine after the first trial, but gave it up. He jerked his chin across Market Street. "Local library. Thought you could go bone up on the history of the Foxworth family and the surrounding area.

"Yeah, okay. I can do that. What about you?"

Sam scrubbed his hands over his face again and ran them through his hair. For just a moment, Dean had to resist the urge to fix the bit in front. This last near-death experience was clearly doing a number on his maternal instincts. Or paternal instincts, except that their dad had been more drill sergeant than nurturing, so yeah, maybe not that.

"I'm going to the police station a few blocks east,” he said, his voice coming out gruffer than usual. “Try to find out what's going on with the family that's living there now. There's a bar across the street from the station. I'll meet you there when you're done."

The boys slammed the car doors shut and walked across the parking lot, turning right onto Market Street. Dean left Sam at the steps of the Jefferson-Madison Regional Library and continued on to the police station.

An hour later, Dean was halfway through his burger at the bar by the time Sam joined him at the bar. Sam dropped a stack of printed newspaper clippings and notes on the table and sat down with a sigh.

"Aren't you sick of burgers yet, dude?"

"What? No. Why would I be sick of burgers? There are so many kinds of burgers. Bartender told me that there's another burger joint in this town that uses two glazed donuts as the bun. We should hit that place before we leave."

Sam made a face and ordered water from the waitress. "Um, no thanks. But you have one and tell me how it is."

"Just be glad I got you a salad. So? What did you find out?" Dean changed the subject, mostly so he wouldn't get another lecture from Sam about his eating habits. He watched Sam fork into the chef salad he'd ordered for him and felt a sense of relief. At least he was eating something healthy. That was refreshingly normal. For Sam.

Sam swallowed and shuffled his notes. He leaned in closer. "Okay, get this. The Foxworth girl - her name was Corrine - did run away with her half-uncle, Christopher. Corrine's grandfather Garland had two sons. The first one, Malcolm, was Corrine's father. Malcolm's mother died when he was a little boy and Garland remarried years later when he was in his fifties and Malcolm had grown up. The second wife was much younger and she gave birth to Christopher, Malcolm's half-brother. Garland died of a heart attack when Christopher was little and Malcolm pretty much threw his stepmother out not long afterwards."

"Harsh," Dean said around a mouthful of fries.

"Yeah, well, he and Olivia, Malcolm's wife, took Christopher in years later after his stepmother died of cancer. Christopher was seventeen by then and Corrine was fourteen."

"Okay. So where does the scandal come in?"

"Corrine's mother, Olivia, walked in on Christopher and Corrine having sex."

Dean pointed a finger at Sam. "See! Told you it was incest."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, it caused a big scene, as you can imagine. Malcolm threw them out of the house in disgrace. Apparently, both Malcolm and Olivia were the kind of Bible-thumping Christians that frowns upon premarital sex at all, much less that between an uncle and niece. So he disowned both of them. Then he had a heart attack and stroke right after he threw them out. He forbade all mention of them in his presence and never really recovered."

"I bet. Still, it's kind of hot, right?"

Sam gave Dean a strange look. "Which part? The part where he disowns them or the part where he has a stroke and spends the rest of his life in a wheelchair?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, man. The kids, Corrine and Christopher, you said their names were? Falling in love, giving up all the Foxworth money for each other. Plus, forbidden fruit, you know?"

"Dude, you're bent. Incest turns you on now? I don't remember that being the case when you found out about those fans of Carver Edlund's books who wrote those stories about us."

Dean chuckled. "Oh yeah, I forgot about those. What'd they call that - 'wincest'? Clever.”

“If you’d read some of them I don’t think you’d be so blasé about it.”

For just a moment, Dean was speechless. “You’ve read some of them?”

“I might have read one about a succubus.”

“I read that one too!” Dean said, so surprised they’d both read the same story that it took a minute for him to process what that might mean.

Sam got a weird grin on his face. “I know you did. I saw it on your laptop. I think you owe me for not giving you shit about it.” He put a hand up when Dean started to say something.

"Anyway. No one heard from Christopher or Corrine for another fifteen years or so and then one day, Corrine reappeared in the middle of the night. People in town didn't know about it at first, but apparently, Christopher died in a car accident in Gladstone, Pennsylvania, where they'd moved after they left Foxworth Hall. Doesn't sound like he inherited Malcolm's gift for making money because he left a lot of debts. This was in the fifties and Corrine didn't any job skills, so she didn't have a lot of options. And they had four kids."

"How old were the kids?"

"The oldest was a boy, around fourteen, I think? Next was a girl, twelve or so, then four-year-old twins, a boy and girl."

"Anything wrong with them?"

Sam shook his head. "Not at all. They were perfectly fine. Blonde, blue eyes, took after their parents, good-looking family. Their friends in Gladstone called the entire family the Dresden dolls."

"Come again?"

"After a series of porcelain figurines made in Dresden, Germany. All the figurines have blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and --"

"And look like they're all related to each other? Yeah, got it." Dean took a swig of his beer.

"So Corrine's mother, Olivia, took her and the kids in, but get this - locked them in the attic."

"The attic? Why?"

Sam shrugged. "To keep them hidden from Malcolm, I guess. And the rest of the town. The Foxworths were wealthy and had a lot of political power in Charlottesville, but weren't very popular with their whole 'holier than thou' routine."

Dean sat back and spread his arms across the back of his seat. "And if the townsfolk knew that their children were the biggest sinners of all, they'd lose the moral high ground."

"Something like that, I guess." Sam turned a couple pages in his notes, absently chewing the last of his salad. He continued reading from his notes.

Dean gestured to the waitress as Sam tossed his balled-up napkin onto his empty plate.

"What did you find out?" Sam smiled thanks at the waitress as she took their empty plates away. He didn't seem to notice the way she eyed him, her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders.

Sam waved a hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Hmm?"

"I said, what did you find out at the police station?"

"Okay, so the police chief says Foxworth Hall burned down in the seventies but was rebuilt in the late nineties. Says the family's lived there off and on but it's been vacant until recently. A couple months ago, it was rented by a woman with four kids - " Dean looked at Sam, who raised an eyebrow back "and the kids haven't been to school in a while."

"Four kids, eh? Just like Corrine Foxworth and her kids."

Dean swallowed another mouthful of beer. "Yeah."

Sam leaned back in his chair and yawned, stretching his arms wide. "So, what's our play?"

"Guess we better go out to Foxworth Hall, see what we can find out."

He looked at Sam, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "You need a little nap there, Sammy?" He’d meant to sound sarcastic, but instead he’d sounded concerned. Damn.

Sam shot him a dirty look. "I'm fine. Let's go check out the house."

 


	4. Chapter 4

Foxworth Hall was a lot bigger than Dean expected. They'd driven west from Charlottesville through farm country in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. About forty-five minutes from the city, they drove toward a cluster of large fancy houses nestled on a steep hillside. At the very top was Foxworth Hall, the grandest of them all.

They turned into a long drive that curved up to the front of the house and got out of the car. Three stories, plus a series of gabled windows along the roof line. “This house has eight chimneys,” Sam said, a note of awe in his voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Gotta be a bitch to heat in the winter.” The exterior was a faded red brick with stone carvings and statutes that made the house look even more impressive, but also cold and unwelcoming. The curtains in most of the windows were drawn and no one was visible on the grounds.

"Who are we again?" Sam asked as they approached the wide double front doors.

"Truant officers," Dean replied. "Police chief said the kids haven't been in school in a couple weeks."

"Do truant officers make house calls? Are there even such things anymore?"

Dean smirked. "There were when I was a kid. Remember that little town in Nebraska when Dad was hunting the poltergeist on the Sanderson farm? Man, the tricks I had to pull to stay off the radar of that guy."

"Or you could have just gone to school."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, like that was gonna happen. Anyway, if you don't think truant officers, then what? I don't think there's anything to justify the FBI being here. At least not that we know of yet."

"Well, if there have been reports to the police about the kids, then Child Protective Services has to be involved, right? Hopefully, they won't ask for any identification."

Dean jabbed the doorbell, the chime echoing deeply inside the house. They waited several minutes but no one came to the door. Sam leaned across Dean and pressed the doorbell again. Dean pulled a black case from his jacket pocket and picked the lock.

The massive door opened into a large foyer with high ceilings. Dean glanced at the oil portraits of cold, austere people in old-fashioned dress that lined the walls. Foxworth ancestors, probably. The floor was made of some kind of intricate colorful tiles, and their footsteps echoed in the vast empty space. At the far end of the foyer, a pair of staircases curved up and met at a balcony on the second floor. Three giant crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling at least forty feet high.

Before they reached the staircases, Dean followed Sam through an open doorway on the right, and into a large library with walls of books on three sides. The room smelled like lemon wax with that faint old-book smell all libraries seemed to have. Sam drifted to one of the floor to ceiling bookcases and ran his fingers over the leather-bound volumes.

Dean rolled his eyes and went to the wall of tall narrow windows, checking out the garden in back. The garden stretched back from the house as far as he could see, sloping down with terraced plantings of roses and other flowers and shrubs he couldn't name. Dead flowers drooped on spindly stems and leaves littered the lawn.

Dean turned around and leaned against the windowsill. The library was a long room and the light from the windows barely penetrated halfway into the room. The ceiling was probably twenty feet high and the bookshelves went all the way up. There was even an iron staircase that reached to a second level and a balcony along which to access the books up there.

Sam continued examining the books, one hand on the side rail of a wooden ladder that slid along the railing just underneath the balcony. His other hand still trailed along the books, as he read their titles. He didn't look tired now. He looked wistful, like he'd never seen so many books he wanted to read in his entire life. He straightened up and turned to Dean. "There's a complete set of Dickens. And Shakespeare. Man, what I'd give for a few days in this library."

"We've got a library, dude. The Men of Letters library is at least this big." Why did it always seem that whatever they had was never enough for Sam?

"Yeah, but it's filled with books on the occult and things like the Malleus Maleficarum, not Ivanhoe and James Joyce."

Sam looked up at the shelves above his head, then at the ladder next to him. He climbed three steps up the ladder and stretched an arm out for a fat book on a high shelf.

Dean watched the muscles in Sam's back shift under his suit jacket while he moved on the ladder. He followed the line of Sam's arm to his wrist exposed at the end of his shirt cuff while he reached for the book, then back to his shoulders as he stepped back down the ladder, and down to his hands as he cradled the book he'd chosen.

"Dude. What are you staring at? Do I have something on my back?"

Dean shook his head slightly, blinking away a sudden mental image of Sam without his shirt. "Nah, man. Just wondering what book you picked, that's all." The only thoughts he had about Sam's body while they were on a job were gratitude when they were in the middle of a fight that his little brother was a big sonofabitch. Or annoyance when Sam was injured and he had to carry him that his little brother was a really big sonofabitch.

Dean moved to the massive desk in the middle of the room, made of some dark wood with a tall leather swivel chair behind it. He idly pulled a drawer out. Empty. That was odd. He opened a second drawer, then a third. They were all empty. He hadn't expected to find Foxworth family secrets in the desk, but there weren't even any paper clips, pens, or notepads in the drawers. None of the sorts of odds and ends people usually kept in desk drawers.

Sam was leaning against the library ladder, engrossed in whatever book he'd taken from the shelf.

"Come on, Sam. Leave the books alone and let's see if we can find those kids."

Sam sighed as he closed the book. "Yeah, okay. I guess we have work to do here." He crossed the library to the ladder to return the book and even though he’d just been caught checking Sam out, he couldn't keep his eyes from Sam's ass as he climbed back up the ladder steps.

Sam hopped from the second step to the floor and turned around while Dean was still looking at him.

"Dean. You're staring at me again. Are you checking me out?” Sam asked. The smile on his mouth said he was joking, but Dean thought Sam was watching him carefully.

Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "No, Sam. I am not checking you out. I'm just waiting for you to get back to the job here. Now come on, let's check this house out."

Sam gave him a suspicious look but didn't say anything else. They left the library and headed back down the same way they'd come in.

The house was silent, fully furnished but no sign that anyone lived actually here. It was eerily quiet, in fact. There were no sounds other than their footsteps on the polished wood floors and the brush of their sleeves against their jackets.

They walked down the long hall, looking briefly into each room as they passed.

"It sure as hell doesn’t seem like anyone lives here," Dean couldn't help whispering.

"Yeah," Sam whispered back. "Maybe we need to find the attic? That's where Olivia stashed Corrine's kids, right? Maybe the McNeil kids are locked there?”

Dean shrugged. "Worth a try." They'd reached the main foyer and the twin staircases curving up to the second floor. Dean started up the stairs and Sam followed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

The second floor was just as deserted and silent as the first floor, each room they looked into furnished with heavy dark furniture, but none looked lived in. No personal items on the bedside tables or bureaus, no books or photos scattered around living areas. Sam paused outside a set of double doors in the middle of the hall. A long moment passed but Sam continued to stand there, staring at the door.

"Sam?" Dean asked. "You gonna open the door or what?"

Sam shook his head. "Uh, yeah." He reached for the doorknob, hesitated, and pushed the door open.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed. "Look at that."

In the center of the room, on a raised platform, was a large oval bed constructed to look like a swan. At the head of the bed, the swan's ivory head was in profile, about to plunge a yellow beak under its lifted wing. One ruby red eye glimmered in the dim light of the room. The swan's wings curved most of the way around the bed, ending in splayed feathers that held back transparent drapes in pale shades of pink, rose, violet, and purple.

Dean crossed the pale mauve carpet and circled the bed, examining how it was made.

"Dude, can you believe this? They must have to get custom sheets for this thing."

He sat down on the end of the bed and bounced a little. "Comfy, though. Wonder what it's like to sleep on something so ridiculous."

Sam was still hovering in the doorway, staring at the bed. Dean cocked his head at him.

"What's up with you, Sam? Swan got your tongue?" He chuckled at his little joke and Sam smiled faintly at him.

"Um, nothing. This room just creeps me out a little, I guess." He slowly walked into the room and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Yeah, I can see that. Rich people are so weird. Who would have something like this made? I mean, it's gotta be custom, right? You surely can't get this at Raymour & Flannigan."

Dean looked around the room at the crystal lamps, the ivory and rose velvet chaise lounge, and the white fur rug on the floor near the bed. "Wonder what kind of animal that rug came from?"

Sam knelt and touched the rug. "Polar bear, I think?" he said. He put his hand on Dean's knee to push himself up and the door to the swan bedroom slammed shut with a bang.

Sam froze, one hand still on Dean’s leg, his body uncomfortably close to Dean’s crotch. His grip was firm, as if he were about to run that hand right up his leg. Dean pushed that thought far away. To the Arctic Circle, where the dead polar bear’s family maybe still lived.

"Whoa," Dean said. "What the hell? Was there a breeze or something?" He should get up, check the hall, test for EMF, something. But doing anything beyond sitting here, with Sam kneeling between his legs, seemed impossible.

Sam’s hand was still on Dean’s leg, the heat from it travelling up his leg in a throbbing pulse. His cock began to harden. He casually pulled his jacket tighter and rested his hand over his lap. No need for Sammy to notice anything going on there and freak out.

Sam’s head was bent, staring down at his own hand or at Dean's lap, Dean couldn't tell which behind the hair hanging in Sam's face. He still hadn't moved and Dean leaned forward to look at him.

"Sammy? You going to stay there all day?"

"I don't know," Sam said almost too softly for Dean to hear. "Dean, something weird is happening to me."

Dean lifted his hand without even thinking and smoothed it over Sam's head, tucking his hair behind his ear. His voice came out rougher than he intended.

"Yeah well, something weird always happens to us, doesn't it? I really need you to stand up now, Sam."

Sam shifted on his knees to face Dean. He didn’t stand and that hand on Dean’s knee was downright burning a hole through his pants. He put his other hand on Dean's other knee and slid both hands slowly up Dean's legs. Christ, he was hard. He closed his eyes, trying not to feel what he shouldn’t be feeling but also silently urging Sam to go higher and touch him.

"No, Dean. This is different. This is… I don’t think I can stop myself. It's almost like -"

Suddenly, the doors burst open and a large woman with steel gray hair pulled back in a severe bun stalked into the room.

"Sinners!" she shouted at them, as Sam scrambled to his feet and Dean jumped up beside him. They pulled their guns at the same time and pointed them at the woman.

"I'm Agent Hudson, and this is my partner, Agent Rose," Dean started. Might as well use the same FBI names they used on the last job, since the guns kind of ruined the truant officer plan. She didn't have any weapons and she seemed human, at least so far, so he didn't want to just shoot her. Yet.

"Listen, ma'am, we're here to see June McNeil, about her children, so let's just calm down, okay?" He pointed his gun at the ceiling instead of at the woman and raised his other hand, palm out.

"How dare you bring your lust into my home!" The old woman stalked toward them, unfazed by their guns. Sam shifted position awkwardly next to Dean. So, Dean wasn't the only one who'd gotten hard while Sam was kneeling there in front of him.

"You are the Devil's spawn, and you bring your sin into my house! How dare you! I'll whip you both until the blood runs from your backs, you filthy sodomites."

"Yeah, I don't think so, lady." Dean aimed his gun at the old woman again and squeezed the trigger. At his shot, she flickered and disappeared. When the echo of the gunshot died away, Dean heard the lock click in the door and the fainter sounds of the old woman's voice.

"You’ll stay here until you get on your knees and pray to God to cleanse you of your sinful desires."

Sharp footsteps echoed down the hall and then silence again.

Sam swung around to face him. "What the hell? Dean, you shot that woman! You didn't even wait to find out who she was."

Dean put his gun away and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Well, she clearly wasn't human, was she? And she threatened us first, so yeah, I shot her. There's no way that bitch is whipping me for an inconvenient boner in a bedroom that looks like it belongs in a whorehouse."

Sam put his gun away too, a blush on his cheeks. "So, you felt something too? Dean, I'm sorry, I - "

Dean waved the apology away. His gaze flicked down, noting the bulge in Sam’s pants. He’d definitely felt it too, then. Dean swallowed hard. Okay, time to play this casual. This here, the mutual erections and leg-stroking was an accident. Not something Dean fantasized about on a regular basis. He cleared his throat.

"Don't apologize. It's not like either of us is a stranger to random wood. The Foxworths were crazy religious nuts, right? Course the bitch assumed we were gay when she burst in here and saw you on your knees and me on the bed. Vengeful ghosts and their assumptions," he said, flashing what he hoped was a casual smile. He turned away, pacing the room, willing his body to calm down.

Sam looked at the door and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Obviously, Sam was trying to control his erection the same way Dean was trying to ignore his.

"So, you think vengeful spirit of some kind? Maybe a curse that makes people in the house feel things they're not supposed to?"

"Yeah, maybe. We should find out more information about what happened to Corrine's kids. Whoever owns the house now is related to the Foxworth family, right?"

Sam nodded. "Bartholomew Sheffield. One of Cathy's sons. Okay, let's go see if he'll spill the family secrets."

They headed for the door at the same time, desperate to get out of the hell out of the house before anything else happened, and ran into each other as both reached for the door handle. Sam stepped back just as Dean did, and they bumped into each other again, Sam jostling Dean off balance.

Dean grabbed Sam's arm to steady himself and Sam grabbed his other arm. It wasn’t like they'd never been this close to each other before. But this felt different. The urgent, inappropriate lust was still there, just under the surface. Dean looked at Sam's lips and suddenly wanted to know how they felt more than he'd wanted anything else in his life.

Sam's hand tightened on Dean's arm. "I, um… We…We're cursed, right? This is some kind of curse?"

Dean snorted. "Cursed, yeah. How many times have we been cursed now?"

Dean's hand lifted, gripped the back of Sam's neck, and pulled him closer. He stopped just inches away from Sam's mouth. This needed to stop now.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam's entire body was rigid. Their gazes locked and Dean hoped Sam could see how sorry he was. How much he didn't want to want this. Because the truth was he did. Even before this house, he did. He'd just never, ever, planned to act on it.

Sam sighed, and relaxed into Dean's grip, letting his body move closer. He tentatively pressed his lips against Dean's. Dean closed his eyes, and leaned into the feeling. Sam's lips were softer than Dean had expected.

With a soft groan, Dean's lips parted, his tongue softly tracing Sam's lower lip. Sam opened his mouth, inviting Dean to deepen the kiss, his grip on Dean's shoulder tightening until it almost hurt. Dean traced the inside of Sam's lips with his tongue. He couldn't believe Sam was letting him do this.

The moment Dean's tongue touched Sam's, Sam pulled back, breaking contact. He put both hands on Dean's shoulders and pushed him into the door, hard. So much for him letting Dean do this after all.

"Sam. I'm - "

"Shut up," Sam said in a low, deep voice. His fingers were like iron on Dean's shoulders. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed like he was trying to remember something, and he stared at Dean's lips like he was trying to memorize them. Dean braced himself for a punch. Or for that look that Sam got when he thought Dean had gone too far in making decisions for him. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't see either coming.

Instead, Sam's lips crushed into his. Dean's head was forced back against the door, Sam's tongue filling his mouth, kissing Dean like he would never get enough. Dean kissed him back with abandon, exploring every inch of Sam's mouth in return, pushing against Sam's tongue, the kiss sloppy and desperate.

Sam's hands stayed on Dean's shoulders, pinning him to the door. Dean brought his hands to Sam's hips, needing to touch him. Dean's cock strained against the fabric of his pants and it took all his strength not to pull Sam forward and rub himself against Sam. He wanted to feel Sam's hardness against him.

The kiss went on and on. He felt the doorknob digging into his back and finally pushed Sam back so he could catch his breath.

Sam's face was white. "Dean, I don't know what came over me. I --"

Dean sagged against the door, his legs unsteady.

"Sammy, it's okay. There's obviously something in this house that's affecting us. We just need to figure out what it is."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Right." He ran a hand through his hair and Dean remembered how soft it felt between his own fingers. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the door. This job was gonna be harder than ganking that hellhound if they didn't get control over themselves.

Sam was still staring at his lips when Dean opened his eyes. "What's our next step?" Sam asked.

"Talk to Bartholomew Sheffield, remember? And stop looking at me like that, or we're never going to get out here."

Sam snorted and took a small step back, reluctantly, Dean thought. Hoped, maybe. He reached behind him for the doorknob, which twisted slightly in his hand but didn't turn. He sighed as he pushed himself off the door.

"But first we gotta get out of this locked room."


	6. Chapter 6

Sam sighed as they waited in the reception area to meet the Reverend Bartholomew Sheffield. He couldn't look directly at Dean, not after what they'd done in Foxworth Hall. It must have been something in that swan bedroom. Something that made them feel things brothers aren't supposed to feel for each other. He was grateful that Dean had taken it more or less in stride, he supposed. Dean seemed to be treating this like any other job, even though they'd just been sucking face only a couple hours ago.

He'd never kissed anyone like that. Not with that rough need, that desire to just take without thinking of what the other person might be willing or unwilling to give. He wouldn't describe himself as a passive lover, but with Amelia and most of the other women he'd been with, he was always conscious of his size and how easy it would be to overpower her.

It hadn't been that way with Dean and he didn't think it was just because of the ghostly mumbo-jumbo. He knew how strong Dean was, how much he liked a fight, and how hard it was for him to give in. He'd wanted to make Dean give in. And he knew that he didn't need to be gentle or cautious with Dean. That Dean could take anything he threw at him and would probably come back for more.

If Dean hadn't pulled back and stopped the kiss, how far would Sam have gone?

Maybe Dean wouldn't have stopped him. After all, his big brother was a major slut. He'd be the first to admit it. Any woman who looked at him with interest could have him.

The door opened and a pretty blonde young woman came through. The sort of woman Dean would screw in a heartbeat if she were willing. "The reverend will see you now," she told the boys, motioning them to follow her.

Bartholomew Sheffield wasn't what Sam expected. He was almost as tall as Sam himself and in his early 40s, with dark hair lightly sprinkled with silver. His office was large and bright with windows that overlooked downtown Charlottesville. He motioned Sam and Dean to a pair of chairs before his large black and chrome desk and asked the young woman to bring them coffee.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked after they were seated and the girl had come back with the coffee.

"We're investigating an incident at Foxworth Hall and I understand you used to live there," Dean began.

The reverend's friendly smile disappeared. "I haven't lived at Foxworth Hall in years. I rent it out but I don't see how anything that goes on with the family I rent it to has anything to do with me."

Sam leaned forward. Defensive much? "We're not accusing you of anything, Reverend. We're just gathering some background information." He took out a small notebook.

"So, you own Foxworth Hall? But you don't live there?"

Sheffield looked annoyed at Sam's questions but nodded. "I inherited it from my grandmother and her will specified that it has to stay in the family. My brother Jory doesn't want anything to do with it and my adopted sister Cindy doesn't count as family, according to my grandmother's will. The place is much too big for me to live in alone, so yes, I rent it out."

"Why doesn't your brother want anything to do with the house?" Dean put in.

Sheffield turned to look at him. "What possible business is that of yours? Jory lives in New York with his wife and children." He sighed and pushed back a little in his chair. Sam thought he looked uncomfortable talking about the house, more than should be warranted in responding to background questions from a couple of (admittedly fake) FBI agents. But maybe his reaction made more sense if he knew there was something in the house that caused people to have inappropriate feelings like it did to Sam and Dean.

The reverend blew out a breath. "Look, whatever you're investigating, I haven't been in the house in ten years. I've never even met the family that lives there now. I hire a management company who takes care of it in between tenants. They're the ones who the tenants deal with. You should talk to them if you need any more information. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a taping to get to."

Sam looked at Dean. Maybe it was time to just cut to the chase.

"Reverend Sheffield, we know about your mother. And your grandmother. We even know about your great-grandmother, Olivia. There's something going on in that house and we need you to tell us what you know about it."

Sheffield closed his eyes. "Not again," he said almost too softly to hear. "Dear Lord, not again."

"Not again? What do you mean? Tell us what happened before that you think might be happening again."

Sheffield reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled a fine silver chain from around his neck. Dangling at the end was a small key, which he used to unlock the bottom left drawer of his desk. He took out a manila folder and put it on the desk. His hand shook as he pushed it across the desk.

Dean reached for the folder. Inside was a small stack of photographs. As he flipped through them, the Reverend explained who each person was.

"My mother Catherine Leigh Dollanganger Foxworth Marquet Sheffield." He gave a small sad smile. "Quite the mouthful, I know. She outlived all her husbands but it was the death of her last husband that broke her heart in the end. Christopher Garland Dollanganger Foxworth Sheffield." The reverend closed his eyes, as though he were bracing himself for the Winchesters' reaction to his next words.

"Her brother."

Dean nodded, their suspicions confirmed. "Okay, and who are these kids here?"

Sheffield opened his eyes and looked at Dean. "Didn't you hear me? My mother married her own brother."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, then back at Sheffield. The guy clearly expected them to be shocked.

"We heard you," Dean said. "We told you that we knew about your mother. Believe me when I tell you, Reverend, there are things out there that are way more shocking and dangerous than a little brother-sister action."

Sheffield sighed. "Well, it wasn't just my mother and her brother Chris who had an immoral and sinful relationship. My grandparents were half-brother and half-sister."

Dean flipped through the photos. "Corinne and Christopher? I thought he was her half-uncle."

The Reverend pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have no idea why I'm even telling you this, but no. That's what everyone thought, which was bad enough. But Malcolm, my great-grandfather, raped his father's young second wife and my great-grandmother locked her away in the attic during her pregnancy. When the baby was born, my great-grandmother pretended she was her own daughter and they raised her as their legitimate child."

Sam leaned across Dean to look at the photos. "And your great-grandmother was Olivia, who also locked your mother and her siblings in the attic when Corrine came to Foxworth Hall after her husband died?"

Sheffield nodded. "Yes. I can't excuse the sins the women in my family have committed. I can only pray for their immortal souls and hope that God has mercy on them."

Sam and Dean exchanged another look. "Well, it sounds like the men in your family were willing participants. I mean, your grandfather Christopher could have married someone other than his half-sister. And your uncle could have found another woman beside your mother."

"He told me once that he tried," Sheffield admitted. "But my mother and uncle were locked up in the attic for three years while they were adolescents. Whatever evil is in that house sunk its claws so deeply that they couldn't shake it when they got out. An evil so deep it caused the death of their youngest brother, Cory."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Corrine killed one of her own kids?"

Sheffield leaned forward, as if coming to Corrine's defense. "You must understand. My grandmother was a weak woman who'd been raised to be decorative rather than self-sufficient. She could speak four languages but she couldn't balance a checkbook. She was entirely dependent on her husband during their marriage. When he died, she had no job skills and no way to support my mother and her siblings. Corrine wrote letters to her parents, begging them to forgive her for marrying Christopher and let her come back to Foxworth Hall."

The reverend gathered up the photos and returned them to his desk drawer. He kept his eyes down and didn't look at Sam or Dean as he continued.

"They let her come back and Malcolm eventually forgave her and wrote her back in his will, but he added a codicil. If she ever revealed that she'd had children with her half-brother, or if she ever had any other children, she would forfeit her inheritance and have to pay back everything she'd ever bought with Foxworth money. She conspired with Olivia to keep the children hidden in the attic until Malcolm died, so he never knew about them, but once his will was read, how could she let them out of the attic? They were still children, so she couldn't just open the doors and set them free on their own. And she certainly couldn't count on them to not reveal where they'd been all that time if she did let them go. Even if she did, the family resemblance would have given them away immediately."

Sheffield's voice softened. "My mother took after my grandmother in looks, although she wasn't at all like her in personality. And from what my grandmother told me, Chris was the spitting image of his father."

"Uh-huh. So she had to kill them. Right." Dean sounded disgusted but Sheffield kept talking.

"She told me she had a plan. She started adding small amounts of arsenic to powdered sugar doughnuts, which Olivia brought to my mother and her siblings every day. The arsenic wasn't enough to kill them, it just made them feel a little sicker every day. They'd have fevers more and more often, stomach upsets, that kind of thing. Over time, they got weaker and sicker, until finally Cory became so weak and ill that he caught pneumonia. She was going to spirit him to a hospital in Richmond, somewhere where no one would know her or that he was related to her."

Sheffield still couldn't or wouldn't look at Sam or Dean. "But before she could get him there, Cory died."

Dean leaned back in his chair. "Wow. I guess Corrine's not winning any awards for mother of the year."

Sheffield sighed and finally faced them. "I think she meant it as a kindness, actually. She couldn't just kill her children outright, you see? How would she explain their bodies, for starters? But if they gradually got sick enough that they eventually died from what looked like natural causes, then she could keep her inheritance and be free. There's something in that house that makes people do bad things."

Sam stole a sideways glance at Dean. Talk about an understatement. They'd certainly done some bad things in the swan bedroom. Even though it hadn't felt bad at the time. Kissing Dean like that had felt good. Right, even. Like they were finally back together the way they were supposed to be, after everything they'd been through. He shifted a little in his chair, trying to ignore how his cock twitched when he remembered how Dean's tongue had felt in his mouth, and turned his attention back to Sheffield.

"What do you think the thing in the house is, that makes people do bad things?" Dean was asking.

Sheffield shook his head. "I'm a man of God. And if I believe in God, then I have to believe in the Devil. I think the Devil is in that house and infects the people who live there."

"Then why haven't you done anything about it? Why rent it out to another family and risk innocent people getting infected by this devil you believe in?" Dean asked, a bite in his tone. 

Sheffield looked ashamed. "Because I also believe that my family is cursed. I think there's a taint in the Foxworth blood that entices the Devil to spread his evil. My grandmother's will states that I can never tear down Foxworth Hall. I had hoped that renting the house to a good Christian family with no relation to the Foxworths would keep the Devil at bay."

Dean clapped his hands together to wrap the interview up, his patience obviously exhausted. "So, anything else we should know about Foxworth Hall?"

Sheffield shook his head. "I think I've told you enough about my family's scandalous history. And I really do need to get to my taping. My show broadcasts every Sunday on Channel 13. Perhaps you boys should watch it and pray for your own immortal souls."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, thanks, Reverend, we'll keep that in mind."

Dean and Sheffield both started to stand up, but Sam put a hand out to stop them.

"Reverend Sheffield, if you don't mind, I just have one more question.” He flipped back through his notes. "The house burned down in the seventies, didn't it?"

Sheffield nodded. "It caught fire during a Christmas party Corrine held in 1972.”

“Was there anything left of Foxworth Hall after the fire? When it was rebuilt, were pieces of the original reused?"

Sheffield looked confused, but sank back into his chair. "Um, yes. The bones of the house were still standing. Most of the attic burned, except this little schoolroom that was up there, with old-fashioned wooden desks and a chalkboard. The main staircase burned but the library suffered minimal damage. During the reconstruction, I had everything repaired that I could and had reproductions made of everything that couldn't be salvaged. It looks exactly as it did when my grandmother lived there."

Dean leaned forward. "Really? Why?"

Sheffield looked down at his desk surface. "It was my grandmother's dying wish that I reconstruct Foxworth Hall the way it had been in its glory days. I loved her very much and I followed her wishes as closely as I could."

"And the swan bedroom? That was your grandmother's bedroom, wasn't it? Did you reconstruct that too?"

Sheffield shook his head. "I didn't need to. The swan bed was a little singed in the fire and the curtains had burned, but the bed itself needed only minor repairs." He got a faraway look in his eyes. "That room is beautiful, isn't it? Such a unique bed. I can imagine it was the perfect backdrop for my grandmother. She was very beautiful, you know, even more so than my mother."

Sam looked at Dean. Without Dean saying a word, he knew they were both creeped out by the Reverend's fixation with his grandmother. Yeah, there was definitely something in that room that messed with people's heads. Dean looked back at Sam with a look like "are we done here now?" Sam nodded.

"Okay, Reverend Sheffield, I think that's all the questions we have right now. Thank you very much for your time."

The reverend shook his head as if coming out of a trance and stood to shake Sam and Dean's hands.

Sam and Dean walked back to the Impala in the parking lot.

"So? What do you think?" Sam asked.

"I think that preacher is a little more attached to his grandmother than a grandson should be." Dean said. "Damn, what is it about this family and close relations boinking each other?"

Sam smiled briefly. Trust Dean to horn in on sex. Speaking of sex, he adjusted himself as they settled into the car seats and caught Dean looking at his crotch. He put his notebook over his lap and cleared his throat.

"I meant about the house. If there really was some kind of evil spirit in the house and the fire didn't kill it, then maybe it's still in the house?"

Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. "Or maybe the spirit came later, as a result of all the bad things Olivia and Corrine did there."

"Yeah, maybe." If it was an evil spirit or a ghost, they could kill it like any other monster. But first they'd have to find the body or the talisman or whatever the spirit was tied to. And for that, they'd have to go back to the house.

"Uh, Dean? I think we need to - "

Dean turned the car left on Market, heading out of Charlottesville. "Go back to Foxworth Hall? Yeah, I know."

"Okay, but this time, no funny business. We get in, figure out what the spirit is tied to, destroy it, and get the hell out."

"Right," said Dean. He shifted in his seat too, and draped his arm on the car window. "No funny business."


	7. Chapter 7

When they'd changed out of the Fed suits and arrived back at Foxworth Hall with salt guns and silver knives, Dean didn't bother knocking at the front door. He picked the lock and strolled in, ready to put the whammy on whatever was haunting the place. He looked back at Sam on the front steps.

"Well? You coming, or what?" Sam gave him his patented 'I can't believe you just said that' look and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dude, that's not what I meant. Don't be such a prude. Let's find those kids and get this job done."

Sam shook his head but stepped inside. "So, Corrine and Olivia locked Corrine's kids in the attic, right? We haven't been there yet."

"Right, which is where we should have looked for the McNeil kids the last time we were here."

They climbed the main staircase and walked quickly down the second floor hallway. Dean glanced briefly at the closed doors to the swan room. He wanted to go back in there so bad. He glanced at Sam, whose eyes were resolutely on the hallway ahead of them, jaw tight, hands clenched at his side, and kept walking.

They turned into the north wing of the house. As they walked down a hall even darker and colder than the rest of the house, Dean counted fourteen rooms. At the end of the hall was a locked door. Dean picked this lock too and pushed the door open.

The room was large but cluttered with furniture, toys, and clothes. Two double beds with a small table holding a lamp between them. In one bed, a teenage boy lay sprawled across, his gangly limbs taking up most of the surface. A smaller boy, maybe five or six, curled up against the older boy's side. In the other bed was a teen girl, a little younger than the boy, lying on her side, facing the boys' bed, her arms wrapped around a little girl.

Dean threw a questioning look at Sam. Were the kids dead or just asleep? They eased into the room and Dean closed the door with a quiet snick. He scanned the room, EMF meter in hand. The room was maybe sixteen by sixteen, with a massive highboy and large dresser on opposite walls. Two overstuffed chairs, a dressing table with its own small chair between two windows covered with heavy, tapestried drapes. A mahogany table with four chairs clearly served as the kids' dining table, as there was a shelf underneath it that stored plates and silverware. Underneath all the heavy dark furniture, Dean caught glimpses of a bright Oriental rug with gold fringe.

They must have made some sound because the older boy bolted awake and scrambled to the end of the bed, putting himself between Dean and the younger kid.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"You must be Jackson McNeil." Dean asked.

The boy stood as straight as possible. He was probably around five-ten, but clearly hadn't finished growing yet. He was blonde, like Corrine's kids, hovering on the edge of puberty, a faint shadow of peach fuzz on his upper lip. He was even skinnier than Sam had been at his age, his eyes huge in a gaunt face.

"Who wants to know?" The boy's voice cracked on the end of his question, clearly trying to be manly and brave. Dean stifled a smile.

"Hey kid, we're not going to hurt you. I'm Dean, this is my brother, Sam. We're here to rescue you from this house."

"Did our mother send you? Have you seen her?"

Sam stepped forward. "No, we haven't seen her. How long have you been living here?"

"Jackson?" The older girl fluttered awake, then grabbed her younger sister and pushed back against the headboard. "Who are you --?"

"You must be Janine," Sam said gently.

"Look, kids, we don't have a lot of time here." Dean interrupted. "We know you moved in here with your mother a few weeks ago and we know you haven't been in school in a while. So, how about you wake your brother and sister up and let's get the hell out of here, okay?"

Sam threw a look at Dean while the kids scrambled off the bed and started packing.

"What?" Dean hissed.

"Swearing in front of the kids? Really, Dean?" Sam whispered.

"Dude, is this really the time to be worried about that? Grab one of the little ones and let's go before that crazy bitch comes back."

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean but went to take the youngest girl, Jennifer, from Janine. Dean grabbed the suitcase Jackson had stuffed haphazardly with clothes while Jackson gently picked his small brother, still asleep, from the bed. Dean looked at the kid, who seemed flushed and sweaty.

"He okay?" Dean nodded at the kid.

Jackson stroked the damp hair off the kid's face. "He's had a fever since last night. We've given him some aspirin but it hasn't helped much. Are you sure you haven't seen our mom?"

The boy was trying to be adult and brave but Dean could hear the trembling in his voice. He clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"You've done a great job taking care of your brother and sisters, kid. There's something going on in this house and it's hard to explain. But once we get out of here, we'll take your brother to the doctor and find your mom, okay?"

Jackson nodded and shifted Justin against his shoulder. The kid kind of reminded Dean of himself at that age, always taking care of Sammy.

"Dean?" Sam called from the door. "The door's locked again. From the outside."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said under his breath. He set the suitcase down and crouched down at the lock. He got the door unlocked but it slammed shut when Sam tried to take Janine through it.

"What the hell?" Dean picked the lock again, and walked through himself, but when he reached through the doorway to grab for the girl in Sam's arms, a hard shove sent him sprawling backwards into the hall, Sam and the kids in the room on the other side.

"Dean!" Sam called through the door.

"Goddammit!" Dean picked himself up and went to the door. "I'm fine, Sam. You okay?"

"Stand back, Dean. I'm going to try kicking the door down."

Dean took a few steps away from the door. Obviously, Foxworth Hall wasn't going to let these kids go without a fight. The trouble was, he wasn't sure exactly what they were fighting. He hadn't felt any cold spots in the swan room when the old woman appeared. Though, come to think of it, he probably wouldn't have noticed, considering how hot things were in that room. She disappeared when he shot at her, so she wasn't human. Something was definitely keeping that door shut tight, though, despite Sam's efforts to kick it down.

The door thudded from Sam’s efforts as Dean backed up. He felt a presence behind him and swung around to face Olivia, stalking down the hall toward him.

Damn it, the shotguns with the rock salt rounds were in the room, on the other side of the door Sam was trying to kick down. He pulled his handgun from his waistband and aimed it at the old woman's head. It worked last time, although seemed like a waste of regular bullets.

"You! This house has no mercy for sinners like you."

Dean snorted. "Give it a rest, lady. The only sinner here is a crazy bitch who locks up and starves innocent children."

Olivia stalked toward him, ignoring the gun he was pointing at her face. Before he could get a shot off, she reached a hand out and Dean slammed into the wall. She gripped his throat with an invisible iron hand, her granite eyes boring into him.

"I see you, boy. I see the feelings you have for your brother. That lust, the things you fantasize about doing to him, about him doing to you. You are the worst sinner of all. You feel these things and you feel no shame about it!"

Dean struggled to speak around her throttling hand. "So what? What do you care, lady? The only reason we're here is to rescue those kids and gank your self-righteous ass."

Olivia continued like she wasn't listening to Dean. "You think your brother feels the same way? You think he wants to kiss you the way he would a woman, touch you in places meant only for the procreation of children within the sacrament of marriage?"

Vivid images of Sam doing just those things washed over Dean. He couldn't tell whether they were his own thoughts or if Olivia had somehow planted them, but all he could see was Sam before him, kissing him. He could feel Sam's hands running down his body. See Sam sink to his knees in front of him, a recurring fantasy that never failed to get him hard. He closed his eyes and felt his balls tighten at the same time Olivia's hand tightened around his throat. The sounds of Sam banging on the door and calling his name in concern morphed into Sam calling his name in the throes of lust.

This seriously wasn't the time, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from sinking deeper into the fantasy. Son of a bitch, was he going to come in his pants with a vengeful spirit choking him in the hallway of a haunted house and no one actually touching him? As he got closer, he felt Olivia's fingers around his throat loosen a little. Despite wanting nothing more than to just abandon himself to the images Olivia's words had planted in his head and jerk himself silly, he managed to get the gun up and pull the trigger.

Olivia let go of his throat and he sagged against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Dean!" Sam shouted on the other side of the door.

Before he could reassure Sam, Olivia advanced on Dean again.

He was ready for her this time. He rushed toward her and pressed her back against the wall, his left arm against her throat. See how the bitch liked it with him choking her. They were the same height and he stared into her cold gray eyes, while she laughed at him.

"You can't kill me, boy. I am God's vengeance in this house. I see all your sinful desires and I will be the instrument of God's punishment."

Dean shook his head and pressed his arm harder against her throat. "Believe me when I tell you, lady, that God doesn't give two shits about what's going on in this house. And it's none of your goddamn business what kind of desires I have."

Olivia craned her neck toward Dean, obviously not needing to breathe. "Your brother doesn't believe that. He knows how sinful you are, what an evil temptation you are to him."

"Sam's a big boy, lady. He can take care of himself." And Dean would cut his own dick off before he ever made the first move on Sam. He hadn't done so in the library, or the swan room, or any time over the years they'd been hunting together. He couldn't remember when he'd started jerking off to sexual thoughts about his brother, but it didn't matter. It was his own private fantasy that he'd always intended to take to his grave. Or hunter's funeral pyre, whatever. But it was Sam who'd kissed him in the swan room, so maybe he wasn't the only one who felt something after all.

At the thought of a willing Sam on his knees before him, something flickered in Olivia's face. Just for an instance, she seemed to waver before his eyes and Dean almost fell against the wall. She solidified almost instantly but Dean suddenly realized what he'd been thinking when her hand eased up on his throat.

"Oh, so that's how it is? You like to watch, eh? You say you can see what I want to do to Sam? Well, take a long look, lady, and enjoy what you see."

It was a little hard to get into it with Olivia staring at him, but Sam called his name with urgency again and that was enough. Dean called up how intent Sam had looked when he kissed Dean in the swan room and focused all his attention on remembering the feel of Sam's cock rubbing against his while they'd kissed.

Normally, he got off on the dirty wrongness of imagining fucking his brother but the reality of actually touching Sam hadn't felt wrong at all, so he focused on those feelings. The way Sam had grunted when he'd found the right angle against their constraining pants and the small whimper of protest when Dean had pulled back for air.

He pressed his hips against Olivia's skirts. "You feel that?" he whispered in her face. "That's for someone who's a whole lot more righteous than you are. Someone who deserves every good thing I can give him and absolutely anything he wants. Love ain’t a sin, lady."

Olivia suddenly flickered and disappeared. Dean stumbled against the wall. He braced his forearm against it and leaned his flushed face on his arm as he fumbled to put his gun away. The banging on the locked room had stopped.

There was a small wet spot on the front of his jeans but at least he hadn't shot his entire load. Yet. He took several deep breaths, trying to let go of the images of Sam naked and sprawled out on the swan bed. Olivia had apparently let go because he wouldn't play her game of shame, but she'd surely be back. He needed to get back into the kids' room so they could figure out how to put her down permanently.

Silently willing his cock to stand down, he scrubbed both hands over his face.

"Sam?" he called.

"Dean!" Sam yelled back instantly. "What the hell is going on out there? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm going out to the car to get a few things. I have an idea about how we can gank this bitch once and for all. Stay put and keep an eye on the kids, okay?"

Sam's chuckle went straight to his cock, which had almost gone all the way down, dammit. "Yeah, well, I've nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to bust the door down, so we're not going anywhere for a while. Hurry back, Dean."

 


	8. Chapter 8

When Dean got back to the north bedroom, he didn't have any trouble picking the lock and getting back in. Guess Olivia didn't mind volunteers for her little shame prison. Sam was standing at one of the large windows, salt gun in his hands, looking out across the grounds. He'd opened the heavy drapes on both windows, though not much of the late afternoon light came in.

The kids were huddled together in the big rocking chair, Jackson holding both twins in his lap, an arm around Janine squeezed next to him. The floorboards creaked rhythmically as the chair rocked back and forth. The only other sound in the room was the congested snuffling of the younger boy, Justin.

Dean dropped the bag he'd brought from the car just outside the bathroom door and crossed the room to the rocking chair. He sat down on the end of the bed nearest the rocking chair.

"You kids doing okay?" he asked gently. The twins were asleep again, but the older kids nodded. He gave them what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Weird house, ain't it?" Sam winced at him. Yeah, understatement of the year. The kids just stared back at him. He looked briefly at Sam and tried again.

"Listen, I need to ask you kids some questions and some of them might be embarrassing. I'm not trying to get all up in your business but I need you to trust me until we can figure out a way to get you out of this room. Okay?"

Jackson and Janine looked at each other, the same kind of wordless communication he and Sam sometimes had passing between them. Turning back to Dean, Jackson nodded and tightened his arms around the sleeping Justin.

"Okay. How often does that old woman come to your room here? Does she bring anything with her?"

"She didn't come at first," Janine answered. "Our mom came, and brought food in a big wooden picnic basket. Except she wasn't like our mom used to be. She was weird, like a different person. She kept talking about how she'd made a mistake with our fathers and that God needed to punish her. And that we had to stay locked away so no one knew about the sins she'd committed. But then Mom stopped coming and it was just the old woman."

Dean was confused. "Wait, fathers? You kids aren't siblings?"

Jackson looked defensive. “My dad died before I was born and Janine's dad ran off when Mom told him she was pregnant." He tucked a lock of damp hair behind Jennifer's small ear. "The twins' dad stuck around for a while. He tried, I think, but four kids was kind of a lot for him, I guess. He and Mom started fighting all the time and when he hit her the fourth time, I hit him back. That's when we left Richmond and came to Charlottesville."

Dean nodded. That made sense. The old woman would surely consider having four kids with three different men sinful and tap into the mom's feelings about that. If the mom was acting out of character, maybe Olivia was possessing her. Or getting her to act a certain way, based on her shame or guilt. They'd certainly seen that before, with that preacher in Ankeny.

"Okay, that helps." Dean said. "Now, you said your mom stopped coming? When was that?"

"Last week," Jackson replied dully.

"Last week? Who's been bringing you food, then?" At the kids' silence, Dean leaned back on the bed and looked over at Sam.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered. Sam shook his head in shared disgust. No wonder the kids were so lethargic. They were starving right here in this room. He looked closely at their pale sweaty faces and glassy eyes and remembered what the Reverend Sheffield had said about the arsenic Corrine had poisoned her kids with. He had no idea what arsenic poisoning looked like, but dollars to donuts, these kids were probably suffering from similar symptoms, whether real or mystical.

"Okay, kids. I know this has been a terrible experience for you. But I promise we'll figure out a way to get you out and find your mom. Just a couple more questions." He took a deep breath and looked at Sam, then back at Jackson.

"When that old woman, Olivia, appears in the room, are any of you doing anything that maybe you think you shouldn't be doing? Anything, um, embarrassing, or - " he coughed and tried to think of a delicate way to phrase it - "anything, sexual, maybe?"

"Dean!" The drapes rustled as Sam started forward but Dean waved his hand at Sam to hush. He kept his eyes on Jackson, trying for the same kind of matter-of-fact, man-to-man attitude he'd used when Ben asked him to explain what a wet dream was.

Jackson flushed a deep red and dropped his eyes. Janine started crying.

"We didn't mean to. Honest! It's just that I really had to go to the bathroom and Jackson had been in there for a long time and when I opened the door, he was - " She stopped and turned redder than Jackson, who was still looking anywhere but at his sister or Dean and fidgeting in the chair. If he didn't have his small brother and sister piled in his lap, he'd probably have bolted away by now. Poor kid.

"Okay, I think I got it. So, that was the first time Olivia appeared?"

Janine nodded. "She said we were the Devil's spawn and that our souls would rot in eternal hell. Then she told us that we wouldn't have any food for a week." She sagged against the back of the rocking chair weakly.

"She said it would make hair grow on the palms of my hands and everyone would know," Jackson whispered. The hand that had been stroking Justin's hair closed and he tucked it between his leg and the arm of the chair, out of sight.

Dean tried to suppress a smile, which got harder when he glanced over at Sam. "Well, that's just a lie," he reassured the kid. "I mean, if that were true, Sam there would have hands like a gorilla. Covered in hair, I mean, not just the size of dinner plates."

"Really, Dean?" Sam shot him a look of irritation. Dean winked at Sam and then at Jackson.

"Don't worry, kid. Masturbation is a normal, healthy thing. It's not sinful, it's just good clean fun. Still, maybe you should hold off on doing it again until we get you out of this house."

He clapped the boy on the shoulder and smiled gently at Janine.

"Okay, kids, I'm going to talk to Sam a minute and figure out what to do next. You just sit tight here, okay?" The kids nodded dully and resumed rocking back and forth in the chair.

Dean motioned Sam to join him in the bathroom, out of earshot of the kids.

"What the hell, dude? Asking those kids about sex? A little pervy, don't you think?"

"Shut up. I'm not being pervy, I was testing a theory about this case." He leaned against the sink and scrubbed his hands over his face. The bathroom wasn't very big and he was conscious of Sam leaning against the wall by the tub, only a few feet away. His skin prickled all over and his hands itched to feel Sam's skin or to take himself in hand while thinking about Sam. Hell, that's probably where the story about hair growing on your palms came from.

Sam was looking at him oddly. "So? What's your theory?"

Dean cleared his throat and dropped his hands to edges of the sink. The cool porcelain felt good against his heated skin.

"Okay, so you've noticed that the house makes people feel, um, certain feelings, right?"

Sam dropped his eyes to his boots and crossed his hands in front of his crotch. "Um, yeah. I've noticed."

"Well." Dean cleared his throat again. "I think Olivia is feeding off those feelings. More specifically, I think she's tapping into whatever shame or guilt a person has about their sexual fantasies or whatever and that's what makes her appear. She thinks she’s God’s instrument, sent to punish people for the sin of lust."

"What about the kids?"

"Well, their mom started acting weird when they moved in, right? And she's had four kids with three different fathers, so you do the math."

Sam nodded. "She possessed the kid's mom and made her lock her own kids up in the attic bedroom."

"Yeah, probably. But she hasn't been around in a while, so maybe she's locked up somewhere too. Obviously, Olivia's spirit has control over all the locks in this place."

Sam sat down on the edge of the tub. "That's why you were asking the kids about sex stuff."

"Yeah. I guess Jackson was beating off in the bathroom and his sister caught him. Totally normal, but probably enough to get her attention."

Sam snorted. "Still pervy, dude. Especially that crack about my hands."

"Oh come on, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Anyway, the kid shouldn't be ashamed about it. I mean he shouldn't in general, but he really shouldn't here. That's what gives Olivia her power - shame and guilt around sex. Let go of the shame and you take away her power over you."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Really? How do you know that?"

Dean felt himself flush. "Well, when I was outside in the hall and you were trying to break the door down, she was there. She said a few things and I, um, started feeling a few things, and then she had me against the wall with her hands around my throat."

He risked a glance at Sam, who was staring fixedly at his loosely clasped hands. Shit, this was a lot harder to admit to Sam than it was to Olivia.

"But, ahem, when I gave into the feelings and concentrated on how good they felt, she backed off and then she disappeared." He chuckled uneasily. "Weirdest thing ever, I tell you, having sexual fantasies in the middle of a fight."

"Sexual fantasies," Sam echoed. He finally looked up at Dean, although Dean couldn't read his expression at all. "About me."

"Well, yeah," Dean snorted. "What house have you been in? And don't tell me that you haven't felt it too. You're the one who started things in the swan room."

Sam was still looking at him with that unreadable expression. "And you don't feel ashamed at all? Dean, we're brothers."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, so? Who cares? You're the one who said incest is no big deal in some cultures." He ran his hands through his hair and gestured to Sam.

"Look, neither of us have been very good at a normal relationship, right? We spend all our time together, in each other's pocket. There's no one else to share the crap we deal with. Not to mention that we've saved each other's lives more times than I can count. What difference does it make if we do this too? Hell, it might make things easier to deal with. You know I always feel better when I have the chance to get laid after a fight. Better than beating off alone in the shower."

Sam snorted and smiled briefly. “That’s your grand plan? Saving people, hunting things, then having sex?”

Dean grinned at him. “Yeah, why the hell not?”

"You're bent, dude. But, um, okay." The last word was barely audible.

Dean blinked at him. "'Okay'? What does that mean?"

Sam stood up and took a deep breath, lifting his shoulders and letting the air out in a loud huff. "It means okay. I can be okay with it. With us, I mean."

Something clenched in Dean's chest and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. Really? Was Sam really okay with this? He pushed himself off the sink but kept his hands at his sides. Sam was going to have to prove that he meant it here.

Sam crossed the few feet between them and lifted a hand to Dean's cheek. His thumb traced over Dean's cheekbones and Dean shivered.

"You're sure about this, Sammy?" he whispered.

"Stop talking, Dean," Sam ordered and bent his head to meet Dean's lips.


	9. Chapter 9

This kiss was slow. Not gentle exactly, but deliberate. Like now that Sam had made the decision to do this, he was going to take his time with it. His large hands cradled Dean's face and his fingertips gently rubbed the back of Dean's neck. With every stroke of Sam's fingers, mirrored by the sweep of his tongue, shivers ran down Dean's body. The fine hairs on his arms raised and every nerve was alert and ready for more.

Sam tilted his head to a better angle and ran one hand down Dean's back. Dean grasped his waistband, pulling him closer. Without breaking the kiss, Sam pulled Dean's gun from the small of his back and set it on the toilet tank next to the sink. He gathered up the tail of Dean's flannel and pulled his t-shirt out of his waistband. His hand was so warm when it finally touched Dean's bare skin.

Dean's hands shook a little as he plucked at Sam's waistband, tugging fabric out of the way. He slid both hands under the tail of Sam's t-shirt at his sides and reveled in the small sigh Sam breathed into his mouth. It wasn't enough, though. He couldn't feel everything he wanted with Sam's shirts and jacket in the way. He slid his hands back down to Sam's waist and Sam broke the kiss.

"Dean." Sam rested his forehead against Dean's, his eyes closed.

"Yeah?"

"What about the kids? And Olivia? Shouldn't we be focusing on them and save this for later?"

It was hard to think with Sam's body pressed against his, one hand still under Dean's shirt, the other still cradling his cheek, Sam's thumb gently stroking over his cheekbone. If later meant that Sam would still be willing to do this when not under the influence of this house, then Dean would give anything for it to be later right now. But Sam was right, they needed to take care of Olivia once and for all.

He placed his hands flat on Sam's chest and pushed him back just a little so they were looking straight at each other.

"Yeah, I, um, have a theory about that. I don't know how much you're going to like it, though." Shit, Sam looking at him with his research mode expression but his lips all swollen and red from their kissing was not helping his concentration. He leaned forward toward Sam's lips, when Sam stopped him.

"What's your theory?"

Dean sighed and pulled back slightly, reluctantly. "Yeah. Um, so Olivia appears when people are doing something naughty and she gets stronger when they feel shame or guilt about it, right? But she let go of me when I just went with the fantasy I was having, okay? So, I figure if we can draw her to us while we're doing, um, something she wouldn't approve of, we can trap her and get rid of her once and for all."

"Something she wouldn't approve of, huh? What was the fantasy you were having in the hallway, anyway?"

Dean groaned and dropped his head briefly on Sam's shoulder. "Jesus, Sammy, that's a little personal, don't you think?"

Sam gave Dean his puppy dog face. "Well, if that's what's going to draw her here so we can get rid of her, then I should know, right? Lives at stake and all." He pulled back enough to get his hands in between their bodies and unbuttoned Dean's jeans. Sliding his hand inside, he leaned forward again and whispered into Dean's ear.

"So, what was I doing in your fantasy?" Dean shivered and his balls tightened.

"You were on your knees, okay? That what you wanted to know?"

Sam chuckled against Dean's ear, a low and incredibly sexy sound that sent more shivers down Dean's arms and legs. He slid his other hand down Dean's chest as he sank slowly to his knees. He pulled Dean's zipper down the rest of the way, tugged his jeans down to expose his boxer briefs and peeled them down to free Dean's cock.

Dean closed his eyes, as Sam took hold of him with both hands. Was this really happening? His little brother on his knees before him, hands sliding up and down his dick, his mouth only inches away. Sam blew softly on his tip and Dean gripped the edge of the sink with both hands.

Dean kept very still, trying desperately not to thrust into Sammy's mouth. He couldn't imagine his little brother having done this before and he didn't want to scare him off. Because any second, Sam might come to his senses and stop. And goddammit, Dean didn't want Sam to stop, ever. He let Sam explore his cock with his mouth at his own pace, and groaned when Sam's tongue traced a path up the underside of his shaft.

Finally, Sam's mouth closed over Dean's cock and he tentatively sucked at the tip. Dean trembled at the warm wetness and was afraid he'd lose the last thread of control he was clinging to. Sam slowly slid his mouth down Dean's length and Dean groaned even louder.

"Oh God, Sammy, please."

He opened his eyes and saw Sam's lips wrapped around him, saw Sam's eyes half closed in surprised pleasure. Sam's cheeks hollowed as he pulled back along Dean's shaft, sucking gently but firmly enough that Dean felt the tug of pleasure deep in the base of his spine. Dean closed his eyes again and felt the pleasure build. With shaking hands, he caressed Sam's head and combed his fingers through his brother's hair, trying to hold on as long as he could.

Dean didn't hear the first scream outside the bathroom door but Sam must have, because he pulled back and let Dean's cock slip out of his mouth. Sam looked at the door over his shoulder. "The kids," he said, "It must have worked. Olivia's got to be back."

Dean let his head fall back against the wall. "Goddammit, really? Right now?" Another scream, cut off by the sound of a belt cracking across skin. A drop of pre-come appeared on Dean's tip and Sam looked at him with a speculative expression. Sam grasped the base of Dean's cock, slid his hand firmly one more time toward the tip, and thumbed the drop away. He licked his thumb and Dean nearly spilled himself right then.

"Not really helping, man," he grunted as he tried to stuff his still-hard dick back in his pants. Sam winced in sympathy as he got up from his knees. Dean chuckled as he caught sight of the giant bulge in Sam's pants.

"Guess I'm not the only one who'll be fighting with blue balls."

Dean squeezed Sam's crotch with one hand as he grabbed his handgun off the back of the toilet. He checked the safety and tucked it back into his belt. Sam turned a little away from him and fumbled with the salt guns. Dean ran his hand lightly down Sam's back.

"Damn, Sammy. For what I have to assume was the first blow job you've ever given, you were really on the right track."

Sam chuckled briefly but by the time he turned back to Dean, the lust-filled look in his eyes was replaced by battle focus. He tossed a salt gun to Dean and opened the bathroom door.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam yanked the bathroom door open and raised the shotgun as he looked around the bedroom. The kids were still huddled in the rocking chair, Olivia standing over them and shrieking.

"Where are they? Where are the sinners in my house?"

"Hey!" Sam shouted. He couldn't shoot her while she was hovering so close to the kids or he'd spray them with rock salt too. It wouldn't kill them, but it would sting like hell and these kids had been through enough.

From behind, Dean spoke in a low voice. "Don't shoot her. Get her up to the attic if you can."

He prodded Sam in the back with his own shotgun and Sam took a few steps away from the bathroom door, shotgun trained on Olivia. Hopefully, Dean had time to zip his pants up.

"You want a sinner?" Sam called as he stepped sideways along the wall that led to the closet door. "Come and get me, lady."

Olivia stalked toward him, her arm outstretched, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

"Sinner! Sodomite! Blasphemer! You are an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. You will burn for all eternity in the fires of Hell for what you've done."

Sam could see Dean out of the corner of his eye, bent over the duffle he'd brought from the car, riffling through the contents. He looked fully clothed again, but facing Olivia, Sam flashed back to exactly what they'd just done. He'd heard Olivia's voice in his head when he'd first unbuttoned Dean's pants but the more he got into giving Dean pleasure, the less he heard her words in his head. Now, Olivia's righteous disgust pushed back on him, reminding him that he'd put his hands on the part of his brother he should never have touched.

He swallowed, still tasting Dean on his tongue. Olivia could see everything he'd done. Her presence amplified the images from the bathroom, made him remember that Dean was his brother, that what he'd just done was shameful and sinful. Her eyes bored into him and her nose twitched.

She stepped closer to Sam. "I can smell him on you, boy. You reek of lust. But you can still repent," she whispered. "It's not too late for you. Your brother is damned but you can still be saved. Get on your knees and beg for God's forgiveness."

That order to get on his knees is what broke Olivia's spell. He was pretty sure he’d never associate getting on his knees with prayer ever again. Her words conjured up images of Dean. How Dean had looked while Sam was sucking him. Like Sam was giving him the thing he most wanted in the whole world but had never thought he deserved. He heard again the sounds Dean had made. Mostly unintelligible grunts and moans. But whenever he'd heard Dean use actual words, it was Sam's name. Over and over.

He'd rather be damned than kneel before anyone else. It wasn't just that Dean was getting his cock sucked that made him sound like that. He knew it was Sam that was sucking him and he wanted it from Sam. From his brother.

Screw Olivia and her talk of evil and sin. He pumped the shotgun.

"Sam!" Dean warned. He glanced at Dean, who shook his head, pointed at the closet door and then at the ceiling. Right. The attic. He had to figure out a way to get Olivia up to the attic.

He lowered the shotgun a little but still kept it directed at Olivia. Maybe if he played along with her demands that he repent, he could get her up to the attic. He wasn't sure why Dean wanted her there, but Dean obviously had a plan.

"Okay," he said, lowering the shotgun but keeping his finger next to the trigger. He took several more sideways steps toward the closet door. Olivia watched him, still pointing a pale, bony finger at him. Her gray eyes glittered in the dim light of the bedroom.

"You're right," he said to her. "I am a sinner. What can I do to repent?"

Olivia smiled in triumph. "I knew it. I knew you were a righteous man. Unlike your brother."

Olivia stood between him and the kids in the rocking chair. Behind her, Dean was quietly pouring a ring of salt around the rocking chair. He stalled briefly when Sam admitted being a sinner, but shook his head slightly and continued pouring. Sam couldn't think of anything else that might get Olivia in the attic. He'd just have to reassure Dean later.

"What can I do?" he repeated to Olivia. The closet door was next to him now and he eased the door open while holding Olivia's gaze. "How can I repent?"

Olivia came closer to him. That was promising. Dean had finished the salt circle and had his duffle over his shoulder, hovering behind the old woman, waiting to follow them upstairs.

"Pray," Olivia said softly as she came toward Sam. "Confess your sins to God and pray for His forgiveness. If you truly repent and accept His punishment, God will forgive you."

Sam nodded at her. "Okay. I will. I'll confess, okay? But not here. Not in front of these kids."

He motioned his head inside the closet, still trying to keep Olivia's eyes on him and no one else. "Upstairs. I'll confess up there. It’s closer to Heaven, right?” he said, not entirely convinced this was going to work. He was maybe laying it on a little thick but wasn’t sure what else to try.

“Will you - " he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Will you come and pray with me?"

Olivia stared unblinkingly at him and Sam held his breath. After a long moment, she flickered and disappeared.

"Shit!"

"Where'd she go?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know, Dean."

Sam looked around the cluttered room. The kids were still huddled in the rocking chair, safe within the salt ring. Maybe Olivia hadn't believed he was serious about asking for forgiveness.

"Upstairs?" Dean asked, motioning to the door to the attic in the back of the closet.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. I'll go look." He turned into the closet and opened the small door at the back.

Sam started up the stairs to the attic, still holding the shotgun loosely at his side. The walls of the stairway were narrow and he had to duck his head to keep from banging it on the ceiling. Dean followed him up.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped short. The attic was immense. Four sets of dormer windows stretched along the front but the light from the windows didn't reach all the way to the farthest walls.

"Whoa," Dean breathed into his ear behind him. "This place is huge."

His voice and warm breath sent shivers of awareness down Sam's spine. Dean smacked him on the ass and shoved him forward.

"Get in there and think dirty thoughts about me so she'll come back. Keep her distracted as long as you can."

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean. "What are you going to do?"

"Try to trap her in one spot so she quits disappearing on us and we can finish the job."


	11. Chapter 11

As Sam headed left into the attic, Dean went to the right. There was little furniture, since presumably most of what had once been stored here had burned in the fire. The few pieces that were left were massive, some of them covered in ghostly sheets. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and Dean heard rustling and scampering to his right. Not rats, he hoped. He hated rats.

In a dark corner near a chimney stack, Dean caught sight of a leather-bound trunk with brass locks and corners. Maybe the trunk had something tying Olivia’s spirit to the place. He smashed the locks with the butt of his shotgun and lifted the lid. A large black leather Bible lay on top of a stack of folded gray cloth. He tossed the Bible on the floor next to the trunk and sifted through the folds of cloth. Gray dresses made of a stiff rustling fabric, the same color as the dress Olivia's spirit was wearing. Something sharp pricked his finger and he dug it out. The diamond brooch she wore at the high neckline of her dress. If anything physical tied her spirit to this house, this or the Bible were probably it.

"Dean!" Sam shouted from the other end of the attic. Dean pocketed the brooch and grabbed the Bible and ran toward Sam's voice.

Past a second set of stairs and another chimney stack, Sam was standing in the doorway of a small separate room. Olivia was stalking toward him from the far side of the attic. Dean tossed Olivia's Bible to Sam.

"Distract her, okay? I need a few minutes."

"Distract her? With this? How the hell am I supposed to do that, Dean?"

"I don't know. It's hers, I think. Isn't there some Bible verse about gay sex being an abomination?"

"That's been taken really out of context, Dean. It's not what that passage means at all."

Dean dropped the duffle on the floor just outside the doorway and yanked it open. "Whatever, man. I have a plan, I just need a little time to execute it."

He grabbed the socket wrench and a flat head screwdriver he brought from the toolbox in the car. Sam looked from Dean to the Bible and shook his head, but he turned toward Olivia and got out of Dean's way.

Dean slipped the screwdriver through the hole on the end of the wrench and held the socket against the wall. Using the wrench as a compass, he pushed hard on the screwdriver and carved a circle as deep as he could into the wall.

Olivia called from a distance. "Come, boy. Pray to our Lord and Savior to forgive you for your sins against Him."

Dean glanced once more at the drawing in his dad's journal, then tossed it back into the open duffle at his feet. Carving a set of six interlocking perfect circles into the attic walls while Olivia prayed over Sam's soul wasn't exactly what he thought this job would need. He couldn't think of any other way to trap the bitch, though. At least this might give them some time to finish what they'd started in the bathroom downstairs. Assuming she didn't convince Sam that he really did need to be forgiven for what they'd done. The last thing Sam needed was another thing to feel guilty about.

He had to use short strokes to dig the tip of the screwdriver past layers of paint and into the drywall, but he got all the way around and met at the beginning in a complete, if a little scratchy, circle. He caught snatches of the Bible passages Olivia was reciting to Sam as he shifted the socket a couple inches and carved a second circle to overlap the first. Something about the wages of sin and an everlasting lake of fire. Well, both he and Sam knew a little about Hell and he was about ready to send that bitch there to see for herself what it was really like.

Four more circles overlapped to create a daisy wheel and then one big circle to enclose the entire thing. This one was a little lopsided but at least the beginning and end matched up. It would have to do.

He dropped the tools back in the duffle and picked up the journal. He muttered the Latin words written in Dad's handwriting under his breath and tried not to think about what Dad would think about what he and Sam had done for this job. For good measure, he opened his pocketknife and sliced a thin cut into the palm of his hand.

"Sam!" he called. "Stand away from her!"

He slapped his bleeding hand against the hexafoil. A blinding light flashed through the attic gloom and he squeezed his eyes shut against it. When he opened them again, the outline of the carving glowed white and burned the shit out of his hand.

"Fuck," he cursed, yanking his hand off the wall and shaking it. Sam raced up behind him.

"Dean!"

Dean took a step back, straight into Sam's chest. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and grabbed his burned hand.

"What did you do? Are you okay?"

Dean let his head fall back on Sam's shoulder. He was breathing hard but it had worked. He gestured at the carving with his other hand.

"Hexafoil. The continuous line traps evil spirits in an endless loop they can't get out of."

Sam let go of Dean and leaned forward to get a better look. "Huh. Not bad."

"Not bad? Screw you, dude. Considering I had to improvise a compass, I'd say it's better than 'not bad.'”

He craned his neck over his shoulder and shouted into the dark attic, “Serves you right, you evil bitch!"

Sam turned back to Dean. "She's not gone for good, though, right?"

Dean shook his head. "The hexafoil is just a trap. Should keep her busy for a while. And away from the kids. But we still have to break her hold over the house."

He pulled the diamond brooch out of his pocket. "I think this is hers. Maybe it's the thing tying her here? We could try burning it."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think that's what's keeping her here. You were right about her losing power when you let go of the shame about sex, though. She, um, tried to strangle me too, but she couldn't quite manage it."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "That so? What were you thinking to get her up here, anyway?"

Sam blushed a little. "Well, before she got here, I was standing in this room here, and um --." He gestured into the room. "Actually, you should see it for yourself."

Dean followed Sam into the room and glanced around. The walls were finished and the room set up like a school classroom. Five desks faced a large desk in the front of the room and blackboards lined three walls above low bookcases. Two wood stoves stood in the corners. With the windows facing south, this was probably the one spot in this dismal place where sunlight actually came through enough to make the room seem almost cheerful.

Sam waved his hand around the room. "Look at this place. I guess the Foxworths sent their kids up here to be tutored instead of going to public school."

Dean grinned. "You got a hot-for-teacher fetish? Want me to bend you over the desk there?"

Sam glanced at the teacher's desk and smiled back, but then pointed to the mattress under the window. "I was thinking that would be more comfortable. And no way, Dean. I'm the one bending you over."

Dean was suddenly, achingly hard. Harder than he'd ever been in his life. All his fantasies about Sam had never gone there, though now he realized that he'd never wanted anything more.

He let the duffle slip from his hand and drop on the nearest desk. Sam leaned against the edge of the large desk in front of the room, looking suddenly unsure.

"Is that okay?"

Dean couldn't find any words, so he lunged at Sam and thrust his tongue in Sam's mouth. He ground his cock against Sam's until he felt it rise against him, then pulled back enough to yank Sam's pants open enough to get his hand inside.

Sam grunted and thrust into Dean's hand. When Dean broke the kiss to breathe, Sam chuckled against his lips.

"So, that's a 'yes,' then?"

Dean groaned and dropped his head on Sam's shoulder.

"Jesus, Sammy. Yes, that's a 'yes.'"

Dean tugged Sam's pants down and freed Sam's cock. He wrapped one hand around it and slid it down to the base, then gripped the top half loosely in his other hand and stroked his thumb up and down on the underside of the head.

"We're gonna need some kind of lube, though. I don't think I'm quite ready for all of that, yet." He slid his top hand up and down, short strokes that made Sam breathe faster.

"And you're going to have to, you know," Dean took one hand off and spread his fingers apart, "stretch me beforehand."

"You sound like you know what you're talking about," Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shrugged but kept his eyes on Sam's cock so he didn't have to look his little brother in the eye. "Yeah well, it's been a little while."

"Benny," Sam said in a tight voice, as he realized what Dean meant.

Sam's cock jumped in Dean's hands and he risked a glance up at Sam. He'd never intended to tell Sam about his thing with Benny, especially after how Sam reacted to finding out only that Dean was friends with a vampire. Didn't matter anyway, since whatever he'd had with Benny was over now. Sam's eyes darkened and Dean could almost see him imagining what he'd done with Benny in Purgatory.

There had never been any question that Dean would choose Sam over anyone and everyone. And no way was Dean gonna be thinking about Benny while he was with Sam. But hey, if thinking about Dean with Benny was going to get Sam off, that was cool with him. Dean winked at Sam, then put his mouth on the tip of Sam's cock and peeled his fingers away one by one as he slid down Sam's full length.

Sam groaned as Dean relaxed his throat and softened the back of his tongue. He pulled back, sucking hard, then licked along the sensitive spot on the underside of the head. Sam smoothed his hands over Dean's head. Dean swirled his tongue around the head, swallowed the drops of pre-come, and sucked slowly down to the base. Sam shuddered as he sucked even more slowly up and then down again. Sam tightened his hands around Dean's head and thrust once into his throat, but then tugged on Dean's hair.

"Oh no, you don't." Sam's voice was breathless. "I'm going to fuck your ass and I'll stretch you as much as you need."

Dean let Sam's cock slide out of his mouth. His own dick was so hard he knew he would come if he so much as touched himself. Even in his hottest fantasies, he'd never let himself imagine this. Maybe because he couldn't let himself want something so bad and never get it. Still, he hesitated just a bit.

"You bring a bottle of lube everywhere you go?"

"We bring a bottle of holy oil everywhere we go," Sam replied instantly.

Dean looked up at Sam's wicked smile. "Holy oil? Man, that is so depraved..." Then he thought about it a minute and shrugged.

"What the hell. We've already broken all other taboos."

Sam kissed him briefly and pushed off the desk to fetch the duffle.

"Not yet, but we will."


	12. Chapter 12

Sam grabbed the holy oil from the bag Dean had dumped on one of the small desks. He was about to join Dean at the mattress but turned back to feel in the outside pocket of the bag. Yep, two condoms, probably put there by Dean, who believed in always being prepared. That Dean was as prepared to have sex with a random stranger as he was to kill a demon or salt and burn a ghost's bones was just part of their fucked-up lives, Sam guessed.

When Sam returned, Dean had undressed and was kneeling on the mattress looking out the window. Sam tossed the bottle of oil and the condoms next to Dean, pulled his own clothes off, and knelt behind him.

Dean didn't turn around and Sam wasn't sure how to start. He put a tentative hand on Dean's shoulder and stroked down Dean's arm. He leaned forward a little and kissed Dean under his left ear.

"Dude. Are you humming Metallica?"

Dean shrugged. "Stuck in my head. From the drive here, I guess."

Dean mostly hummed Metallica when he was nervous. The idea of Dean being nervous about sex was crazy, though. This whole thing had been his idea, and he hadn't seemed freaked out by it up til now.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Dean asked quietly.

"Well, you're the one who figured out that letting go of the shame about sex is what weakens Olivia. We're trapped here, we can't seem to keep our hands off each other, and the more we give in, the weaker she gets."

"So, we're pretty much in a fuck or die situation here?" Dean's tone was light but the muscles in his back were tense and his hands gripped the windowsill.

Dean wasn't nervous about having sex with Sam. He was nervous about how Sam felt about it. That Sam didn't feel the same way or wouldn't be able to go through with it in the end. Dean had waited for Sam to take the initiative and had given Sam every opportunity to back out.

Sam inched forward on his knees until he was just behind Dean. He put his hands on Dean's hips and pressed his erect cock against Dean.

"This is how I feel about you.” Sam whispered in his ear. “It's not something I could have admitted before this job, but it's not because of the job, either. It's you. I want you. I came back for you. And I'm ready to do this with you, if you are."

Dean let go of the windowsill and leaned his head back against Sam's shoulder. Sam slid his hands forward around Dean's hips to his stomach, and stroked up his chest. His skin was soft and so warm. Sam trailed tiny kisses from Dean's ear down his neck and felt him relax against Sam. Another trail of kisses back up to Dean's ear and Dean sucked in a breath when Sam nipped at his earlobe.

"Enough foreplay, Sammy. I don't know how much longer I can hang on here."

Sam bit down a little harder and tugged on his earlobe. Looking over Dean's shoulder, he watched a pearl droplet on the tip of Dean's cock grow as he breathed into Dean's ear. Dean's hand twitched toward his cock but then tightened into a fist at his side like he knew that it would be over too soon if his touched himself.

Sam stroked down Dean's chest and stomach, carefully avoiding brushing against his cock, then around Dean's hips. "Lean forward," he whispered in Dean's ear.

Dean shuddered and bent forward, hands braced on the mattress in front of him. Sam leaned across him to grab the bottle of oil. Dean looked back at him.

"You're going to need to…"

"Yeah, I think I can figure it out from here, Dean. I'll let you know if I need any advice."

Dean snorted but turned his head back to the window. Sam dripped some oil onto the small of Dean's back and set the bottle down on the floor. Dean's ass cheeks clenched and he yelped a little when Sam put his hands on his hips.

"That tickles, man," he said.

Sam let some of the oil slide on its own down Dean's crack. He put his thumbs in the small pool at the base of Dean's spine and slid his hands up Dean's back. He stretched forward, firmly gliding his hands up to Dean's shoulders and back down to his hips.

Here were the half-healed scratches on his shoulders from when the hellhound threw him across the gravel at the Cassity farm. There was the scar from when that cop's bullet had winged him when they were running down that alley in a small town whose name he couldn't even remember now. And there, on Dean's right side was a series of crescent-shaped scars Sam had never seen before. As many times as Castiel had healed Dean from various beatings and injuries, Dean still had marks on his body from so many fights.

Even so, Dean was beautiful. He'd carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long and no matter how many times he was beaten, chewed up, or spit out, he always came up swinging.

He slid his hands down Dean's back again, this time sliding his thumbs along Dean's crack and pushing his cheeks apart with his hands. He circled Dean's asshole with one thumb while he stretched his other hand to grab the oil. He dribbled some on the fingers of his right hand and smeared the oil until they were coated.

He circled Dean's puckered hole a few more times, then pushed his index finger slowly inside. Dean moaned softly and his elbows started to quiver. Sam stilled to let him get used to the intrusion, stroking Dean's back with his other hand.

He felt the muscles shift as Dean lowered himself to his elbows. His face was buried in his arms, ass tilted up. Sam took that as a clue to slide a second finger in and Dean moaned a little louder this time.

Sam gently wiggled and stretched his fingers inside Dean, then slowly slid halfway out and even more slowly back in. He couldn't believe he was here, doing this, to his brother, of all people. And yet, as he looked down at Dean bent before him, he realized there was no place he would rather be.

This was why he hadn't gone back to meet Amelia. Dean. Before this job, he thought it was just so they could finally close the gates of Hell and he could have a real life again. He knew the timing wasn't right with Amelia, probably wouldn't be again, even if they managed to get the job done. But he also knew that as much as he'd loved her, he belonged with Dean.

And Dean needed him, too. More than Amelia did. She had her husband but Dean had no one beside Sam. He'd probably never love the hunter's life the way Dean did. Dean was rarely happier than when they were hunting some evil son of a bitch together, cracking jokes and clinking beers when it was over. The past couple years had been hard, sure, with the Leviathans and whatever Dean went through in Purgatory. But now they had a chance to shut all the demons down and even if that left a few run-of-the-mill monsters left on earth, they could round them up together.

Dean pushed back against Sam's hand and his next moan tightened Sam's balls. His cock strained up, begging to enter Dean, but he wasn't sure whether Dean was ready yet. Sam slid a third finger in and picked up his pace a little. God, Dean was so hot. His skin was radiating heat and sweat was beading up along his spine. With an instinct he hadn't known he possessed, Sam crooked his fingers inside Dean and was rewarded with a louder groan and an "Oh God, Sammy."

Sam hoped this was enough because he suddenly couldn't wait any longer. He pulled his fingers free, wiped them on the mattress and grabbed one of the condoms.

"Sammy? Dean asked, his voice muffled in the mattress, but Sam could hear the combination of frustration and fear in his voice.

"It's okay, Dean, hang on a sec."

His hands shook as he tore open the condom wrapper. This was his brother. His brother who he was about to fuck in the ass. How could he want this so much? What would Amelia think of him? Was it really a bad thing to feel shame about wanting to have sex with your own brother?

"Sammy?" Dean asked again. "You okay?" Dean tried to roll over but Sam was between his legs. Sam shook his head. These were exactly the thoughts that Olivia wanted him to think. That's why there were here, to prove that there was nothing wrong with them. Or this.

"We can stop, Sammy. If you can't do this. We can find some other way."

Dean's voice was hoarse but had the same note of concern so familiar to Sam. He looked at Dean, trying to look back at him from underneath one arm. Sam felt something splinter in his chest. This was Dean, as vulnerable as Sam had ever seen him, still and always, thinking about Sam's welfare first.

"No," Sam said, as he rolled the condom down. "There's nothing wrong with this. There's nothing wrong with us. We're not hurting anyone and it's nobody's business what we do together."

Dean sighed and turned his head into the mattress again. "You really know how to sweet-talk a guy, Sam." He sounded a little resigned, like he'd been hoping for more.

Sam slicked a little extra oil over himself for good measure and positioned the tip of his cock at Dean's entrance. Dean had been taking care of him for his entire life and now it was time for Sam to take care of him.

"How's this for an indication about how I feel about you?" He slowly pushed, willing Dean to open up and let him in. Dean grunted a little and then tried to relax, spreading his hands flat on the mattress and turning his head to lay one cheek on it, looking back at Sam.

"Oh god," Sam breathed as he slid inch by inch into Dean.

Dean moaned, his eyes fluttering closed. "Oh god, Sammy," he echoed.

Sam pushed just a little more until he was all the way inside, his balls just touching Dean's below them. Home. This was where he belonged. Dean was home. Always had been.

He bent forward, laying his chest along Dean's back.

"Oh god," Dean groaned at the shift of position. "Please. Sammy, please.

Sam kept his hips still. No way was he ending this too soon. He wrapped both arms around Dean's chest, trusting Dean to take his full weight even though he could feel Dean's legs starting to quiver.

He stroked Dean's chest from collarbone to hips, pausing to circle around his pebbled nipples. Dean thrust back against Sam.

"Sammy," he begged again, his voice muffled in the mattress. His hands fisted in the sheet, the veins popping out on the backs of his hands from his grip.

Sam tucked his face into Dean's neck. "You feel so good, Dean. I never want this to end. I want you just like this forever."

Dean turned his face toward Sam and rasped his stubble against Sam's forehead. He thrust his hips back against Sam again.

"God, Sammy, don't stop. Please, for fuck's sake, don't stop now."

Sam thrust back and then pulled out the tiniest bit. Dean was so hot and tight and he knew he wasn't going to make it much longer. He kept one hand splayed across Dean's chest, squeezing their sweating bodies as close as he could. He slid the other hand down to Dean's cock and wrapped his hand round the shaft. His hand was damp and slid easily along Dean's length.

Sam rocked his hips against Dean's ass, pulling out just a bit and pushing back all the way in. He stroked Dean's cock with the same rhythm and Dean made a strangled sound at the back of his throat. Dean's thighs shook against Sam's and he knew they were both close.

He whispered into Dean's ear. "That's right, Dean. Come to me. Come to me now, big brother."

That did it. Dean spurted into his hand and shuddered beneath him, murmuring Sam's name. His ass clenched around Sam and Sam couldn't hold back any more. He reared up and grabbed Dean's hips. Pulling nearly halfway out, he plunged back into Dean. One more time, pulling back against Dean's grip of him and then he buried himself inside and came with a shout, pulsing in Dean's ass for what seemed like forever and yet was not enough. It might never be enough.


	13. Chapter 13

Dean eased himself onto his side, avoiding the wet spot on the mattress. He was going to be sore later, that's for damn sure. His arms ached from supporting his and Sam's weight and his legs were like jelly. The feel of his little brother moving inside him, Sammy's hands and mouth everywhere, exceeded every fantasy he'd ever had. He couldn't tell how Sam felt, though. He'd rested against Dean's back after coming, his breath tickling Dean's ear as his heart rate slowed. He'd kissed Dean before pulling out gently, but he hadn't said anything yet.

The mattress shifted as Sam got up and rustled in the duffle. He tossed a rag to Dean on the bed and kept his back turned while they both cleaned up. Dean kept his back to Sam too until he felt the mattress shift again as Sam laid back down next to him.

"Dean?" Sam nudged him. "That was -" he sighed, a note of wonder in his voice. The tightness in Dean's chest eased a little. He rolled over and propped himself on one elbow to face Sam. Sam lay sprawled on his back, one arm folded with his hand under his head. He reached his other hand to Dean's cheek and smiled the sweetest smile Dean had ever seen.

"No chick flick moments," Dean warned. He didn't need words if Sam was going to look all satisfied like that. He smiled back and let Sam pull his head down to rest on Sam's shoulder. Sam draped his arm around Dean's shoulders. Dean felt Sam's chest rise under his cheek as Sam took a deep breath.

As he let it out, the entire attic seemed to sigh with him. A blast of warm air rushed over them. Dean moved to get up, but Sam tightened his arm around Dean's shoulders.

"It's okay, Dean. It's done. Olivia's gone."

"Really? How can you tell?"

He stroked his hand up and down Dean's arm. "Can't you? The house feels at rest now. And I don't hear her voice in my head anymore. We did it."

"Defeated an evil spirit by having sex. With each other. Gotta say I didn't see that coming when Garth called us."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. I wonder if he knew what would happen. He did say we were the right hunters for the job."

Dean snorted. "Well, we can just leave that bit out. Garth doesn't need to be all up in our business, even if he does seem to know way too much about us."

Sam was still trailing his fingers up and down Dean's arm, which sent shivers over random parts of Dean's body. Dean smoothed his hand across Sam's chest. He circled a nipple with light fingertips and watched it stiffen, then glanced down the length of Sam's body. That wasn't the only thing starting to stiffen.

"Are you sure the house is safe now? Shouldn't we try again, just to make sure?"

Sam rolled them over so Dean was on his back, Sam stretched out on top of him. His hips settled in between Dean's legs, and he grinned wickedly at Dean. Thrusting his hardening cock against Dean, he bent closer to Dean and whispered in his ear.

"I'm game if you are."

Dean shivered. He wasn't actually sure he could take Sam again so soon but he was willing to try. The sound of voices calling from the other end of the attic put the kibosh on that idea, though. Damn it, they still needed to get the kids out of the house. And find their mother.

Sam lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at the schoolroom door. He must have heard the voices too. He turned back and rested his forehead briefly on Dean's.

"I love you, jerk."

Dean closed his eyes to savor the feel of Sam's hair brushing his face. For the first time in months, he felt at peace. "Yeah, me too, bitch."

 

**Author's Note:**

> For Carrie, editrix extraordinaire and the reason this story exists in the first place. You’re my weak spot and I’m yours, dude.


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